Devil

The bargain smelled of heat before the hand was offered. A devil waited at the crossroad, horn, tail, a smile that already knew the price. The night leaned in. People who refused still walked home with a devil gift in the pocket, the weight of the almost. It finds them again in devil playing cards that show the same face too often, in a devil notebook with the terms in the margin, in a devil postcard of the horn and the offered hand. The road empties. The smile does not.